Natasha really couldn't find food in her dorm room anymore.
She had searched everywhere—every drawer, every shelf, every forgotten corner where she might have stashed a granola bar or a pack of crackers months ago. The mini-fridge that once held yogurt and fruit was empty, its light having flickered out days ago when the power grid failed. The cabinets above her small kitchenette yielded nothing but dust and a single expired tea bag.
Her stomach felt like it was being twisted in knots, cramping so badly that she had to curl up on herself just to endure the waves of pain. The hunger had moved beyond simple discomfort—it was becoming dangerous, life-threatening even.
So she decided to risk going to the campus convenience store to search for something—anything—that might still be edible.
The store was only two buildings away, a short walk under normal circumstances. Surely she could make it there and back before the toxic fog did too much damage. Other people had survived brief exposures, hadn't they? She'd heard rumors of students making quick supply runs in the first days of the disaster.
Natasha forced herself off the bed, her legs trembling beneath her as she stood. She wrapped a scarf around her nose and mouth—inadequate protection, she knew, but better than nothing—and steeled herself for what was to come.
But the moment she went downstairs, pushing through the heavy door of the staff residential building, she inhaled a few breaths of the toxic fog.
It was worse than she'd imagined.
The air itself seemed wrong—thick and oily, with a chemical tang that burned her nostrils even through the scarf. The black mist swirled around her ankles like living smoke, and she could feel it seeping into her lungs with each desperate breath.
After only a few steps, her vision blurred. The world tilted sideways, and she stumbled, catching herself against a lamppost. Her head spun violently, a nauseating vertigo that made her want to vomit—though her empty stomach had nothing to give up.
No, no, no...
Panic seized her as she realized she'd made a terrible mistake. She needed to get back inside. Now.
She barely stumbled back to her dorm room before collapsing onto her bed, her chest heaving with ragged, painful breaths. Each inhale felt like swallowing broken glass. Her throat burned, her lungs ached, and dark spots danced at the edges of her vision.
For several minutes, she simply lay there, terrified that she'd poisoned herself fatally, that this was how it would end—alone in her room, choking on toxic air.
But gradually, slowly, her breathing steadied. The worst of the dizziness passed, leaving only a lingering weakness and a pounding headache.
She'd survived. Barely.
Out of desperation, Natasha pulled out her phone with trembling fingers and sent a message to someone—her boyfriend, Ryan Parker.
Her fingers fumbled over the screen as she typed:
Natasha:Ryan, please... I'm starving. Just a little food, I'm begging you.
She stared at the message after sending it, hating how pathetic it sounded, hating that she'd been reduced to begging. But what choice did she have?
Ryan Parker had always been the ideal boyfriend in her eyes—or at least, that's what she'd told herself for the past year and a half.
He came from a wealthy family, the kind where money was never discussed because there was always more than enough of it. He stood tall at six-foot-three, with the kind of athletic build that came from regular gym sessions and a personal trainer. He was handsome in that clean-cut, professional way—sharp jawline, styled hair, expensive cologne that lingered pleasantly in his wake.
Most impressively, he had already secured a junior professorship at the university despite being so young—only twenty-nine years old and already on the tenure track in the Economics department.
Smart, accomplished, and ambitious, Ryan was the kind of man every one of her girlfriends envied. A perfect golden boy, the type who looked destined for greatness—department head by forty, published author, invited speaker at international conferences.
Natasha had once been deeply satisfied with him, even proud to call him her boyfriend. She'd enjoyed the way other women looked at her with barely concealed jealousy when they walked across campus together, his hand on the small of her back. She'd loved introducing him at faculty mixers, watching people's eyes light up with recognition and respect.
But now, in the middle of the disaster, he was proving to be anything but reliable.
When the outbreak hit and the toxic mist spread across campus like a creeping plague, Ryan had been in the campus dining hall—specifically, he'd been meeting with some graduate students in the faculty section of the cafeteria when the emergency alerts started blaring.
He had access to plenty of food and bottled water. The dining hall's storage rooms were fully stocked, meant to serve thousands of students for weeks. Yet he hadn't offered her a single thing—not one bottle of water, not one package of instant noodles, nothing.
Natasha had already asked him for help three times over the past few days. Each time, he brushed her off with vague excuses.
"The situation is complicated right now, babe."
"I'm trying to organize a rescue operation with the other faculty."
"Just hold on a little longer, the government will restore order soon."
Empty words. Meaningless promises. And now, as she lay on her bed feeling her body slowly shutting down from dehydration and starvation, those excuses rang hollow in her memory.
On the other end of the campus, Ryan Parker sat comfortably in the dining hall, slurping on a cup of instant noodles—the good kind, the imported Japanese ones with real dehydrated vegetables and a rich broth packet.
He glanced at her message on his phone screen and cursed under his breath.
"Damn woman. I can barely feed myself—why the hell would I give you anything? You think being pretty means you get whatever you want? Not anymore."
It was a lie, of course. The dining hall had enough supplies to last months if rationed properly. But Ryan had no intention of sharing with anyone he didn't have to—and certainly not with a girlfriend who had become more liability than asset.
Before the disaster, Ryan had been willing to put up with her needs—the emotional attention, the expensive dates, the constant validation she seemed to require—because Natasha was gorgeous, the kind of girl that turned heads when she walked into a room.
Her looks had been a status symbol, proof of his own worth and desirability. Dating a woman like Natasha Blake said something about a man—that he was successful enough, attractive enough, worthy enough to claim such a prize.
But now? Now food and water were worth more than beauty, and risking his own stash for her was laughable.
Besides, the fog outside was deadly—he'd watched three people collapse trying to cross the campus quadrangle two days ago. There was no way he was going to risk leaving the cafeteria to deliver her anything, even if he wanted to.
Sure, it was a shame that such a beautiful girlfriend might starve to death. He'd miss those long legs, that perfect face, the way she looked in the dresses he bought her.
But compared to his own survival, her life was irrelevant.
Ryan smirked, a cold expression that would have shocked Natasha if she could have seen it. He picked up his phone and typed back smoothly, his fingers dancing across the screen with practiced ease:
Ryan:Babe, listen... the food here is already contaminated. Things are bad right now. Just hang in there, okay? When this whole disaster is over, I'll take you out for the biggest feast of your life.
He added a heart emoji for good measure:
Ryan:I love you, baby ❤️
Perfect. Sympathetic enough to maintain the relationship, vague enough to avoid any actual commitment or action.
Natasha read the message and felt bile rise in her throat, though whether from hunger or disgust, she couldn't tell. The words that once sounded sweet—that might have made her heart flutter just weeks ago—now made her stomach churn with revulsion.
"Disgusting."
The word slipped from her cracked, bleeding lips as she stared at the screen.
Why hadn't she realized earlier that Ryan Parker was such a selfish, hypocritical man? Had the signs always been there, hidden beneath the expensive gifts and smooth words? Had she been too dazzled by his surface qualities to see the emptiness underneath?
But reality hit her hard—she couldn't count on him. She couldn't count on anyone from her old life. If things went on like this, she really would starve to death, alone in this room, while her boyfriend ate imported noodles and told himself comfortable lies about contaminated food supplies.
Her chest tightened with despair, a crushing weight that made it even harder to breathe.
And then, a name suddenly came to mind.
Elric.
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